The Dream Walker
by AoGAHC13
Summary: [Teen/Historical & Spiritual] This is the first and last of all journeys I take. This is the beginning and end of all things. If this is the last day of my life, I believe I have already taken a hundred million steps to my destination. If this is the day that I wake, I believe that hundred million steps were taken in a dream.


**The Dream Walker**

**Theme: **Teens (ages 14 - 21)

**Prompt: **Historical & Spiritual

**Note: **This is for the AoGA House Cup 2013 Last Stand. (See profile for more details.) Please rate accordingly (see the footnote).

* * *

_ This is the first and last of all journeys I take. This is the beginning and end of all things. If this is the last day of my life, I believe I have already taken a hundred million steps to my destination. If this is the day that I wake, I believe that hundred million steps were taken in a dream. If it was a dream, then the first and last of all things are compounded._

_That makes everything— all of it and all of me— real._

* * *

A young man sat at the front desk of the Academy library. He pored over a thick book that listed the names of students that had come and gone from the school. Each name had a talent written next to it, ranging from ludicrous to dangerous. Each name was an Alice.

The young man appeared a scholarly sort, with gray hair and startling blue eyes. He worked tirelessly in his research and those who saw him would say he labored from sunup to sundown and well into the night. They would be right but it would be more accurate to say that he was working himself to midnight. He did this for a reason and should anyone choose to sit with him in his vigil, they would understand that his study of Alices was neither an academic nor inquisitive pursuit. It was for a far more purposive motive.

Slowly the library emptied out. Students and teachers returned to their dorm rooms and the young man was left alone in the cavernous hall. The registry he had been studying lay open in front of him, while other volumes just like it sat in a stack next to his elbow. The school grew quiet as it lay down to rest. The man stopped his study and clasped his hands together, pressing it to his lips. His eyes were fixed on the clock.

At last, it struck midnight. The chime echoed throughout the campus, going unheard by the inhabitants that had already drifted off to sleep. Before the last toll had even rung, the library that had been cold and lonely just moments before was suddenly full.

It was filled with ghosts. They occupied the desks and carrels. They lurked behind shelves and climbed ladders, seeking books of their fancy. They walked up and down the aisles and spoke in soft murmurs; swapping stories and anecdotes on things they saw and did wherever it was they went whenever they weren't there. Occasionally, one or two of them would greet the young man. He was not one of them but he was hardly a stranger to them. Though he may wear many faces, when he sat among them in this room he was known as the Archivist and that name was enough.

The Archivist stayed where he was, waiting for one of the spirits to glide up to him to talk. This was why he did his research. It was so that he would never face them entirely unprepared. They usually had funny requests to make and the encounters were frequently rich, extraordinary and inimitable. Absolute adjectives were in order. However, minutes ticked by and the ghosts continued to ignore him. He wondered if he had done something wrong to be treated tonight as the peculiarity among these apparitions.

Then suddenly, the door opened and an eight-year-old boy walked inside. The Archivist stirred slightly in his seat. The child ghost looked around the room then when he spotted the Archivist, he walked with a sure step until he was in front of the desk. He fidgeted for a moment but when he spoke there was a fair amount of impudence in his tone.

"I'm lost."

"Yes, I can see that," the Archivist mused. He laid his hands on the table, idly selected a name then leaned forward to introduce himself. "Hello, my name is Benjamin Button."

The boy nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. His eyes flitted around the room. He looked hesitant but he wasn't scared. In fact, he looked impertinent and recklessly brave.

"Hello," he answered. "My name is Natsume Hyuuga."

If the Archivist had any doubts left on who was standing in front of him the name was enough to dispel them. It should have been unmistakable. The black hair, the piercing red glare and the controlling devices hanging on his ears were enough to lend credence to legend. This was the fearsome Black Cat but he was still so very young.

"Could you help me?" Natsume asked softly.

"Where are you headed?" the Archvist returned.

"I don't know."

"How did you get here?"

"I walked."

"Where did you come from?"

"My sleep."

The Archivist took a breath. "You don't know where you're headed. You don't know where you're from. You're walking with spirits so clearly you are lost."

"I was told you could help me."

"By whom?"

"By the person I met yesterday, and he I found through the person I met before him." It was the boy's turn to breathe in. "I've traveled for very long and I've come so very far. If you don't know my way, then please do not waste my time."

He was an eight-year-old kid with all the impatience of an adolescent boy. The Archivist smiled. The child that stood in front of him was disheveled and exhausted. He was also very dusty, as though he had trekked through an entire desert and brought back sand in all his pockets. Every once in a while he would brush off particles from his shoulders like it bothered him immensely.

"I cannot help you," the Archivist replied. That was true but he would be damned if he let the Black Cat out of his sight again. "But I know someone who can."

The boy's guard immediately went up. He could see it by the way his eyes lost their light. There was so much distrust in this Natsume. It was disturbing to see.

The Archivist smoothed his face into one of nonchalance then he stood up and gestured for Natsume to follow him. They headed for the door. The Archivist laid a hand on the knob then paused to explain. He knew that once he stepped out of the room, the library would fall away. He wasn't even certain if the hallway would be there when he opened the door. In the event that there was a corridor, there was no guarantee that it would be the same passage Natsume had seen.

"Natsume," he began gently. "You know that you are a ghost."

"Yes."

"Then you know that wherever I may lead you, it may not be back where you came from."

"Yes."

"And if we step out of this room and we find ourselves falling or climbing, or sliding down a never-ending ramp, will you be all right?"

Natsume's eyebrows scrunched together. He glanced over his shoulder at the library that was still occupied by a thousand and one ghosts. His gaze returned to the Archivist.

"Anything beats just standing around here."

The Archivist was mildly impressed. "You don't know where you came from. You don't know where you're headed. But you seem to know exactly where you are."

Natsume nodded. "A dream."

"Good. Now follow me."

* * *

Outside the library, Natsume and the Archivist immediately found themselves in the middle of Dreaming, where passageways never stayed the same and their surroundings were ever evolving. As they moved, a constant trail of sand marked their path and so whenever they got lost and retraced their route, they easily found their own footprints on the ground. The Archivist, a regular guest in this realm, knew his way well enough and despite the many twists and turns, they were able to find their way to the right room.

The Archivist let Natsume walk through the door first. He found himself inside a workshop. The room was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves with little cubbyholes. Each cubbyhole had a broken object. Each object looked bereft. In the middle of this organized chaos, there was a craftsman hard at work at his desk. A bright desk lamp shown over his current project and Natsume could see a number of tools scattered on the table. The man was bent over a teddy bear.

"Excuse me, sir…" Natsume trailed off when the man raised a hand as though to silence him. The craftsman returned to his work.

Natsume realized he was sewing an arm back onto the bear. He was using unusual thread for it seemed to reflect all kinds of colors. He stitched meticulously making it seem like every movement was paramount to his success. When he was finished, he snipped off the extra thread then leaned back to admire his work. No sooner had he done so, the bear jumped up and bowed low in gratitude to its repairman. Then it leapt off the desk and scrambled up a ladder that led to a window. It stood on the sill for a moment, breathed in the air then jumped out and was soon out of sight.

When Natsume returned his attention to the craftsman, he realized he was being watched. He opened his mouth to speak but the man's gaze went over his shoulder.

"Who have you brought to me today?"

"An old friend," the Archivist answered. "He needs your help."

"And who might you be today?"

"Benjamin Button," he said sheepishly.

"Well-chosen," the man said with a smile. He scrutinized Natsume further then said, "My boy, I am the Mender of Broken Dreams. As you may have realized, my job is to repair dreams, to retool or refashion them as needed. You've come here seeking help so tell me, what is it that you wish?"

"I suppose," Natsume paused. "I'm here to ask you to mend my dream."

The Mender approached Natsume. He circled him once then shook his head. "Then where are the pieces for me to work with?"

"I don't know."

"He is clearly more lost than you realized," the Mender said, addressing the Archivist. He bent down to catch Natsume's eye. "Son, today I will tell you a truth, an idea often taken for granted by the old and cynical: A man cannot live without a dream. He may exist. He may function. But he cannot truly live. You are one that should not be here but you will never find your way back until you recover what you've lost."

"Then help me," Natsume said earnestly. "You must show me how."

"I'm afraid that is not my occupation."

"Where would I even begin?"

"That's a funny question," the Mender said. "You begin at the beginning and you're already there though you haven't realized it. We see you as you truly are and so we know that this is how the journey must start."

"What journey?"

The Archivist stepped forward and a look of understanding passed between him and the Mender. "We're going through the looking-glass."

Natsume flinched. Throughout his travels in this realm, the walls surrounding him had always been filled with mirrors. They came in all shapes and sizes with frames that were sometimes colorful, sometimes ornate, sometimes polished or sometimes archaic. Whenever he looked in one directly, he found himself watching scenes from the past as though each mirror was a window to yesterday, a fragment of time he had already lived. Most of the scenes had pained him so to be told now that he was expected to step through glass was alarming.

"Is there no other way?"

"To recover, you must reflect."

"On old wounds," he said, his jaw set. "On people I've lost and things I've done. There's nothing to be found there."

"Do not be hasty in your conclusions." The Mender smiled at him. "Knowing this is what you think, all the more reason do I urge you to travel."

"For how long?"

Another glance passed between the Archivist and the Mender. The Archivist nodded. "For as long as it takes. And I'll be going with you."

"You have no time to lose," the Mender said, not giving Natsume a chance to contradict again. "You've wandered for far too long already."

The Mender retrieved a newly refurbished full-length mirror and set it in front of him. Natsume touched the reflective surface and suddenly his image was replaced by scenery. The Archivist stood patiently behind Natsume while the latter pondered the expedition he was about to take. It might be difficult. It might be painful. None of that would matter if…

"Will it be worth it?"

"You'll know the answer when you return."

Natsume took a deep breath, something he tended to do before he leapt. Then with a slight shake of his head as though he still thought he was about to embark on something foolish, he jumped into the mirror.

* * *

Natsume landed on hard granite floor. He looked around, uncertain where he was then realized his surroundings were on fire. He rushed to his feet and spun around. The air should have been sweltering. This kind of conflagration would leave very little oxygen. Yet, he realized he felt neither burned nor short of breath. The blaze was higher than him and it had him trapped on all sides but he was perfectly unharmed.

Somewhere in the room someone was sobbing. Natsume lifted his arms to shield his face then leapt into the blaze. He crossed to another room then skidded to a halt. A mother and her young child were cowering at the corner. The fire had them ensnared.

Natsume held out a hand to them. "Come with me! I can help you!" But neither of them moved and they continued to cry in anguish. "Hurry! Please!"

He realized they were too scared to budge so he took another leap and sprinted to them. He held out his arms to reach for them but neither person received him. Instead, the child hid his face against his mother's chest while she shielded him the best she could. The ceiling gave way. Natsume fell forward and nearly crashed into the pair but instead he slipped right past them, through the wall and to the world outside. He was still a ghost.

Natsume turned around, desperate to save the family but the wall had given way and the entire house started to collapse. "No!"

Around him there was chaos. The entire block seemed to be on fire. People were shouting and running. He tried to move out of their way but the crowd was too large and they couldn't see him. More than one person swept past him— through him— and he felt their fear and panic in his gut. Natsume tumbled backwards at the sheer force of the mob. He slumped on the ground then pressed his fists to his eyes. He knew this place now.

This was his hometown and Aoi Hyuuga had just set it on fire.

"Get me out of here… please." Natsume started rocking forward and backward, mindlessly trying to wake himself up. "Get me out here. I don't want to be here."

Several people had died. Countless others had been left homeless. Their family was condemned after this incident. He and his sister were taken away. Another eight-year-old version of him was somewhere in this place, running to help. He would be too late.

"Somebody, please find me," Natsume muttered. He lowered one of his fists to his mouth, biting hard to feel a bit of pain. "Please…"

"There you are," the Archivist said with relief as he suddenly appeared behind Natsume. He looked out of breath, as though he had been looking for him for some time. He helped Natsume to his feet then half-carried him as they ran.

"Get me out here," Natsume said again.

"Okay. Just hang on."

Together they made it to the outskirts of town. Without waiting for Natsume to brace himself, the Archivist shoved him into a shallow stream. Incongruously, the water swallowed him up then mercilessly pitched him into a new scene.

Natsume felt like he was slammed face first against the wooden floor. He picked himself up and though the impact had left him shaken he realized he was neither bruised nor sore. He turned to the Archivist who was standing next to him, watching carefully.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said hoarsely. "I was just taken by surprise."

"Did you know where we were?"

He nodded mutely. "But where are we now?"

"You know this place too, Natsume."

His gaze swept the corridor that he had mistaken to be part of the Dreaming. He felt bile rise in his throat. Of course, it made perfect sense that they would end up here next.

"We're in the Alice Academy."

"Yes and today is your first day in class," the Archivist said grimly.

As soon as he said it, three people materialized at the end of the hallway. Natsume walked towards them slowly at first then he began to jog. Their image grew clearer as he drew near. It was Ruka and him with a teacher, someone he didn't set score to at the time.

"_Here you are boys,"_ Nodacchi told them gently. His voice sounded like it came from far away. _"This will be your new class."_ He opened the door to let them in. Ruka and his other self walked inside and Natsume couldn't resist following.

"Natsume, wait!" the Archivist called but when Natsume didn't pause, he grudgingly stepped inside with him.

It was a familiar classroom, decked out with carefully spaced desks and all the right equipment for a high-end institution. Natsume and the Archivist stood in the sidelines while they watched Ruka and the other him introduced to the others.

_"Would you two like to say a few words?"_ the teacher asked in the end.

Natsume saw Ruka open his lips but his other self cut him off with a forceful, "_No." _The teacher looked put out for a moment but he let them go to their seats. Natsume vaguely wondered how many times he had forced Ruka to shut up like that.

He watched them progress down the aisle. Ruka followed him past all the other vacant seats. This was early in their student career. There were few people in the room. Class B hadn't been fully formed yet. Still, there were familiar faces. He saw a youthful, bespectacled Yuu Tobita at the middle row. He saw a dreamy-eyed Sumire Shouda staring at them. They ignored everyone though and continued to glare at the floor.

The other Natsume passed by him momentarily and he was startled when he picked up a voice as though he had been muttering.

_Don't watch me. Don't look here. Just leave us alone._

The other Natsume stopped mid-aisle, looking lost and unsure. Ruka stood with him and an awkward silence began to fill the classroom.

"Why are you and Ruka standing around?" the Archivist asked curiously.

"We felt out of place," Natsume answered. "We just didn't belong here."

Then suddenly, a person stood up at the back of the room. As though this was a memory returning to him, the person's face was hazy at first then came into stark focus. This was the first time he laid eyes on the ever-smiling face of Kokoroyumi.

"_You can sit here,"_ Koko said to them. _"No one will bother you back here."_

Without a sign of gratitude and only a subtle grunt, Natsume and Ruka took over the coveted seats in the back row next to the window while Koko moved his things.

"_You read minds," _the other him told Koko before he could leave.

_ "Yes,"_ Koko answered, still grinning. _"But don't worry. I'm cool." _Silently, he chose a seat next to Sumire then the class was soon underway.

Natsume wasn't certain what to make of the scene. He felt like he had known Koko all his life so it was astounding to be smacked with this memory and to realize that Koko had offered him friendship from the very beginning. He knew what came next. He met Yuu and Sumire, and many other classmates. Then even though he tried his hardest to keep his distance, they all inched their way into his life until he started to care. Caring became his weakness.

"So you met Koko on your first day," the Archivist said, breaking into his thoughts. Natsume turned to him, a strange light coming to his eyes. For the first time since they started the journey, he felt an emotion in his chest. It was a peculiar kind of warmth and the novelty of it unsettled him.

"Yes, I wonder how I could have forgotten."

"Do you want to stay for class or could we leave now?"

"We can leave."

The two of them headed for the door while the teacher droned on. Natsume oddly felt taller than he did a few minutes ago. He thought it was only because of what just happened and so he brushed the notion aside. The Archivist didn't call attention to it either, but the truth was that it wasn't just a feeling. Natsume had grown older before his very eyes and the strange thing was that whatever number of years he seemed to have advanced, the Archivist felt he had just regressed twice as much. He felt younger than he did just moments ago, like his disguise was falling away.

_Benjamin Button,_ the Archivist mused. _How oddly fitting that turned out to be._

* * *

The moment they stepped through the door, the darkness engulfed them. Natsume glanced over his shoulder but the Archivist had vanished again. He kept walking forward and soon he felt his way blocked by a wall. He ran his hand down the surface until he encountered a door knob. Having no other recourse, he opened it and stepped through.

Before he could shut the door, he heard people running. He glanced down the corridor and in the distance he saw a faint red light. When it drew closer, he realized with a start that it was a ten-year-old Natsume Hyuuga running with tongues of fire hovering above his head to light his way. He was being chased by three students from the high school division. Young Natsume ducked past him into the room, hurriedly glanced around then threw himself into a walk-in closet.

Natsume stood where he was; befuddled for a moment, then he passed through the closet door to watch what the kid would do next. The other Natsume was sitting on the floor. His fire was now extinguished, plunging him into the shadows. His head was between his knees and he was breathing hard. This was the time he had been learning about his fourth form Alice so it was little wonder the child was having difficulty catching his breath.

Natsume crouched low to watch the other him. "Was I really this weak?"

The other Natsume glanced up and their gazes met. The kid looked right through him but it seemed like he sensed he wasn't alone in the small space.

"You're better than this," he told himself. "This isn't where it ends."

Outside there was a bang, signaling that the door had been thrown open. The high school students had found the room. Child Natsume pulled himself up, though his strength was very nearly spent. He braced himself for an attack. Ghost Natsume stood right next to him, scowling at the door. Suddenly, there was a loud crash and a skirmish beyond the wood. People were shouting and the wind seemed to howl and wail in a spine-chilling racket. There was more running then in the next minute, dead silence came over the room. The students on the other side were clearly gone.

Young Natsume laid a tentative hand on the closet door just as this memory floated back into the ghost's reverie. He suddenly realized where he was. He knew what he would find out there. It was then that the warmth inside his chest was joined by another emotion: Hope.

The kid opened the closet and Natsume walked right alongside him, as quiet as a spirit should be. There was a strange yellow glow in the room. A small bed was situated at the corner and suspended above it was a blue and black haze that crackled and flashed then ultimately imploded. The gateway to the spirit world was sealed up.

Child Natsume approached the kid sitting on the bed. It was looking up sullenly at him and he felt a twinge in his chest. _"Did you scare away those bad people?"_

The toddler nodded.

He offered a small smile. _"That's very good. Why aren't you scaring me?"_

"_You're not bad."_

Young Natsume reached out and the toddler lifted an arm to receive his hand. This time, the moment they touched, ghost Natsume felt himself age, as though the process was tangible and perceptible. He spied his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall and knew he was right. He had matured to twelve years old in the blink of an eye.

"Why did you bring us here?" a voice asked.

The Archivist had joined him. He approached the bed hesitantly. Although he had also changed in appearance, Natsume recognized him at a glance though not by the name he had introduced himself with. This kid had eaten enough Gulliver Candy to be identifiable as a teenager. He had evidently regressed and his masquerade as Benjamin Button, a clear alias from the beginning, was fading. For the first time in their lives, Natsume and he were at the same age.

"Youichi Hijiri," he said, dimly hearing the other him speak the same words. "How very glad I am to see you."

The other him picked up toddler Youichi and the latter clung to his uniform. Natsume continued to watch, only slightly miffed because another Youichi was standing next to him, a wandering spirit like himself. Youichi was witnessing a scene he probably had no memory of.

He spoke again, "You didn't answer my question. Why did you bring us here?"

"I guess I thought this was significant."

"Meeting me?"

Natsume watched the other him smile as he played with the three-year-old. He recalled what happened after this. He had left to ask Persona and the other teachers about the kid left alone in the corner bedroom. He had bargained and pleaded. He had agreed to keep doing missions so that Youichi Hijiri would never be transferred and used in the Dangerous Ability Class.

"And swearing to protect you," he said quietly.

The discomfort in his chest grew sharper and he knew it was the fourth form Alice acting up. He wondered why he could still feel so much pain as a ghost. Wordlessly, he stumbled out of the room, unwilling to show Youichi what he felt. Youichi hurried after him though and as they left the bedroom he felt the scene behind him be wiped away. The rest of his recollections fell back into the blackness of Dreaming.

* * *

Youichi had no idea what they would encounter once they stepped out. He anticipated a new scene, inevitably a memory from Natsume's twelfth year. Instead, he found himself following Natsume as he walked through complete darkness. A dust cloud slowly gathered at Natsume's feet. A gift from the Sandman, he thought, and it was being given abundantly.

They trekked blindly through the realm for some time. Mirrors appeared in quick intervals around them then faded away as Natsume walked past without even looking. Whenever Youichi drew near one of them, he heard voices shouting, sobbing and keening. It forced him to remember that Natsume's twelfth year had been a difficult one.

"Natsume," he said, but his senior didn't answer. "Wait, Natsume!"

He halted.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know."

"Why won't you choose?"

"It's not easy."

"You can't stay here."

"Couldn't I?" Natsume bit out. Finally, he turned around and faced Youichi. He looked dismal and fatigued, as though he had been beaten mind and soul. "Do you know how many screwed up things happened when I was twelve?"

"Yes." Youichi swallowed. "I was there."

"Don't be a smartass."

"I'm not trying to be," he retorted. "I know that year was hard for you but no matter how bad things got, we survived."

"Surviving isn't good enough."

"Surviving is the point," Youichi said forcefully. Around them the mirrors began to hiss and their frames faded away. "Have you learned nothing from what you've seen?"

"My hometown was destroyed—"

"Then you met Class B—"

"I was miserable in my Mixed Class—"

"But then you found me—"

"And you were just one more person I needed to protect!" Natsume snapped. He walked towards Youichi and he instinctively backed up a step. Above them the darkness split as scenes erupted from their mirrors like evidence to Natsume's speech. "When I was twelve, the Academy was in chaos. We went to war and we were only kids. It was a stupid, baseless, pointless war. People got hurt around me. People vanished. People died."

"And Mikan left," Youichi added quietly.

"Mikan left. And she had to forget and that's just so goddamn screwed up because it didn't solve anything and the rest of us had our memories intact. That's right. Twelve was one hell of a year." Natsume laughed mirthlessly. "Surviving isn't the point, Youichi. Surviving just means you're hardly getting by."

"Are you done?"

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Then get over yourself," he said with fury. Youichi had never been so glad to be at the same age as Natsume. With that last self-satisfied speech, he thought he really could slug him if it came down to it. "Nobody asked you to protect anyone and that war wasn't just about you. You think people were just fighting for you and Mikan? No. They were fighting for themselves too because that war was about the Academy and the people in it who wanted to make it better."

"Stop preaching to me."

He flinched. "Don't you want to know what happens next? Don't you remember what you were doing before you got lost in dreams?"

"No."

Youichi could see that was all the response he was going to get. Natsume was serious. He was purposely drifting in this realm. Maybe it was because he was tired. Maybe he realized how sad his life had been so far. Regardless, Youichi knew this was the worst place he could be when he lost heart because it was nearly impossible to find his way out. Dreams, when untended, could turn into nightmares. He couldn't let that happen so he was going to choose for both of them.

"I'm not letting you stay here," he said, clenching his fists.

"Are you planning to shove me into a looking-glass?"

"No," he said coldly. Behind him, he felt a mirror materialize. He knew by the size of it, the feel and sound of it, that it was his own. "I'm forcing you to follow me home."

"Youichi—" Natsume cut himself off then uttered a violent oath when Youichi let himself fall backwards. He sank into the looking-glass and Natsume, on impulse, leapt after him.

* * *

In the next instant, Natsume was fourteen. He had returned to his correct age and it was little wonder why because this was Youichi's memory. He had pulled Natsume into his own recollection and it was as vivid as his own had been. He was standing in the Alice Academy. He was in one of the classrooms in the Main Building. His gaze snapped to a calendar sitting on the teacher's table.

It was the eve of November first. It was Halloween, a night when spirits ran wild. This was the day of the earthquake.

"Natsume?"

He saw that Youichi had also returned to his eight-year-old self. He looked apologetic but was still visibly upset and disappointed with him.

"Where have you brought us?"

"To the end," he answered. "You must know this is where it ended for you."

The ground began to shake as though to emphasize his words. Natsume careened forward and he had to grab a table so that he wouldn't lose balance. It registered that he was able to feel the surface, to hold the edge. Evidently, in this dream, he had not only grown older but he was also corporeal. And that meant Youichi was too.

His gaze snapped to his young ward sharply. Youichi was holding on to one of the shelves as he shouted, "You taught me this! When we're amidst panic and chaos, what we consider important becomes painstakingly clear."

"Clear?" Natsume shouted back as the floor continued to pitch them off their feet. "What's clear about this?"

"Your choices!" he flung back.

The world seemed to spin and Natsume saw Youichi lose his footing as part of the floor collapsed. He ran to him then threw himself at Youichi without hesitation. The impact jarred their bones. Natsume held himself above the kid, trying to protect the damn brat.

"Is this it? Is this where it ended?"

"You tell me, Natsume," Youchi said defiantly. "You tell me."

The ceiling caved in and Natsume braced himself, trying to shield Youichi the best way he could. He knew that somewhere in this memory, the other him was committing a similar act of self-sacrifice. The other Natsume would be firing his Alice nonstop, in a desperate attempt to protect his friends from falling debris. He would be doing it until his Alice expended his energy and with it his life.

Above Natsume a large bit of rubble fell and hit him near the nape. The impact shook him to the very core and his arms gave way. He fell upon Youichi like deadweight then blacked out.

* * *

Slowly, the darkness receded and a faint light broke through. The chaos disappeared and an unsettling quiet invaded his ears. Fourteen-year-old Natsume stirred then slowly sat up. He glanced around to take in his surroundings. He was lying on the floor on a pile of sand. There were floor to ceiling shelves divided by cubbyholes that held countless broken objects. He was back in the Mender's workshop and Youichi was nowhere to be found.

"You've returned," the Mender said calmly. His wooden swivel chair squeaked as he turned to face Natsume. "And you look terrible."

"It's the old age," Natsume tried to joke but he wore a grimace as he remembered how he had gotten back there. The blow to his head had felt infinitely real.

Natsume went to his feet then started dusting his uniform. He seemed to have taken his fair share of debris with him. He stepped out of the small dust pile he had created and walked to the Mender. A steady trail of sand followed him.

"So, what have you got for me?"

"Nothing," Natsume said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I exhausted myself yet I have nothing to show for my trouble but a hard life revisited."

"And what of your dream?"

"I never found it."

The Mender shook his head. "I can see the remnants of the dream that you lost. You've brought it back with you without knowing and because you don't know, you're not looking closer."

"Then just fix it for me and I'll be on my way."

"I could fix it but if you don't see it, I could never hand it over to you," he reproved. "I would mend it and refine it, and it would choose to go to someone more worthy."

"I revisited nightmares to get it back," Natsume argued. "How could I still not deserve the dream?"

The Mender didn't answer at once. Instead he retrieved a stool then gestured for Natsume to sit with him. Despite the turmoil he felt, Natsume accepted then waited. The Mender pulled out different objects from the shelves then placed it in front of him on the desk.

"This is a wilted rose from a love that went sour. This is a shattered timepiece from a train that never arrived. This is a torn quilt from a soldier that died in war. I could patch up the quilt, repair the clock and repaint the flower but their dreamers would never be the same." He laid down the precious objects then gazed at Natsume. "I could fix your dream but it would not be enough unless you still believed in it."

"What do you need from me?" he asked, sounding to the entire world as someone defeated.

"The truth: Do you really want to go back?"

The question hardly startled Natsume and that's when he realized that deep in his heart he had been asking that question throughout his travels. He had walked the Dreaming, the spirit realm and the darkness with a single goal but not once did he ask himself if that was truly where he wanted to go. Perhaps a part of him had found solace being lost. Perhaps staying here in a never-ending sleep suited him just fine.

"There is a life waiting for you," the Mender told him kindly. "Why are you hesitating?"

Natsume found himself clenching his knees. He remembered everything he had seen in his journey. He had thought the scenes were random, something a higher being had opted to show him again but now that he thought about it maybe all of it had been his choice.

"This life you speak of," he said at last. "It's not really mine, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

He thought about the scenes he saw, the sacrifices he made, the expectations levied on him and everything he had given up for the happiness and safety of others at the expense of his own. If he had to relive those moments, he knew he would make the same decisions. However, he could not deny how fatigued he was, how much his Alice had already consumed him. Even in dreams, these things were all too clear.

"If I never live for myself, then what's the point?" There was quiver in his voice that he hated. "Will I always be defined by my Alice, by who I care about or by what I do to protect them?"

"What do you want to be defined by?"

"By me," Natsume muttered. "Then by no one else."

"You are mixing up your questions."

"I have many."

"And far too few answers," the Mender said in understanding. "My boy, you must remember this: You are defined by your heart. You may be judged by what you've done and recognized by what you value, but you are defined by your character, demarcated not by what others see in you but by what you see in yourself."

Natsume's gaze slipped to the floor. "And that self-construction makes me arrogant."

"It makes you unsure because you do not truly know yourself yet. When that self-awareness comes, maybe you'll find it never mattered in the first place."

"Then what reason would I have to return?"

"To live," the Mender said quietly. "To live is its own end."

Natsume's head lifted as the words took hold inside him. To take every chance and opportunity without fear of consequences. To feel absolute joy and unqualified pain. To own each moment. To toast each day. To feel warmth and hope. To endure panic and pain. To soar. To stumble. To love. To live. That was its own end.

"That's my dream."

"Very good," the Mender nodded, recognizing the renewed light in his eyes. "And now… I think you're ready."

The Mender reached around Natsume and gathered the dust he collected in his travels. All the while Natsume had thought these were sleep dust from the Sandman but he realized now that he had been wrong. This dust belonged to him. It spun around him like a cloud then finally settled and was collected into two ampoule-shaped glasses. The Mender fused it together then set it upon a wooden stand. He let the particles flow between the two bulbs. When he was finished, he handed it to Natsume. It was an hourglass.

The moment he touched the object, Natsume felt his entire body shudder and he was aware that he had grown corporeal again, as though he had pulled back his entire being from somewhere. His feet began to leave the floor and with it something inside him lifted. Natsume knew he was leaving and the Mender understood this too for he continued to speak in valediction.

"Son, I give you back your dream. When you finally wake, may you see its worth and never forget. Should you ever falter in your step, think of this place and remember that dreams require you to struggle. Good dreams require you to fight. Farewell Natsume."

* * *

Natsume's eyes shot open. There was a machine beeping with a steady rhythm somewhere in the room. There were tubes stuck to his nose, sending oxygen into him. He pulled it off when he realized he could breathe well enough on his own. He pushed himself up on one arm then looked around his hospital room. He spotted an eight-year-old Youichi reclining on a chaise lounge that had been set up for visitors that stayed overnight.

Youichi was fast asleep with a thin blanket covering his shoulders. Natsume could see that his muscles would be incredibly sore when he woke up because of the odd position he had taken. Mercilessly, he grabbed a get-well-soon teddy bear that was sitting on his bedside table then threw it at the kid. It bounced off Youichi's head and caused him to stir. He was up at once, brushing sleep away from his eyes. When his gaze finally focused on Natsume, who was sitting up wide awake, he broke into a grin.

"I pulled you out."

"I pulled myself out," Natsume grumbled.

Youichi raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed. "You do realize you've been in a coma for a month, right? The odds of you waking up were growing dim. I was starting to see a shade of you hovering over your own body."

"Did that frighten you?"

"It saddened me," Youichi retorted. "You were leaving us, Natsume. So don't talk to me about pulling yourself out. You couldn't have done it on your own."

"Thank you."

"That's all I needed."

"Still, that doesn't give you the right to invade a person's dream," Natsume said with some annoyance. "You crossed a line, Youichi."

He laughed. "It's hard to tell for sure. You have to remember the library was my dream. It could just as easily have been you who walked into mine."

"And Benjamin Button?"

"Turned out to be quite appropriate," he said without compunction. "The fact is that you were wandering the spirit realm. My 'friends' told me about it. I had to do something."

Natsume looked at him curiously. "Have you always been able to do that, walk in the Dreaming?"

"Not always, but I've been able to for some time now." Youichi had never told anyone about this before. It felt good to talk to confess. "I got better at it when I grew older."

"It's reckless."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment," Natsume snickered. "It's also foolish."

"Sorry."

"That was a compliment," he corrected. "We don't do a lot of stupid things, you and me. This is a good change for us. Still, I would worry about you."

"Why?"

"There's a fine line between manipulating ghosts and joining the spirit world," he said slowly. It was something he understood while he was asleep. "I'd hate to see you wander too far that you couldn't find your way back."

"I don't know how spirit manipulation translated to dreamwalking but the link is there." Youichi moved to the edge of his seat then spoke gravely, "I'm going to keep doing this until I understand."

Natsume chuckled. "I must have been this much of a brat when I was eight."

"So you'll let me?"

"I couldn't stop you," he answered. Then he frowned slightly. "How did you know your way to the Mender?"

"You're not the only one who's had to see him," Youichi said softly. It was a throwaway question. Natsume probably knew the answer to that before he even asked.

"What was your dream?"

"A teddy bear."

"Get out."

"I'm serious," Youichi said with a grin. "I was very young when I first wandered to his department. My dream was to have a real childhood."

They were a miserable pair, Natsume realized, dreaming of a childhood and of a life that was their own. These were things that were handed without question to other people. Nevertheless, perhaps because it didn't come easy to them, they would know to appreciate it. It was just as the Mender had said. There were some dreams a person had to fight for and those who did deserved to revel in its achievement.

He remembered the calendar in the last scene. "You said I've been gone for nearly a month. What day is it?"

Youichi smiled, amazed at how astute he was, "Happy birthday, Natsume."

A sense of triumph came over him. He was fifteen. He had woken up to see himself reach fifteen years old. Suddenly, the hourglass and his entire journey seemed providential.

"Youichi, will you take me to the Mender?"

His face fell. "How did you know he was here?"

"Alices," Natsume said solemnly. "We Alices find each other."

"Are you well enough to get up?

"I'm well enough for this."

With a sigh, Youichi got up from the chair then assisted Natsume in leaving his hospital bed. They dragged his dextrose with them then slowly made their way to the door. Youichi led him to another floor of the hospital, to the hardly visited section of the psychiatric ward. A sense of foreboding erupted inside Natsume.

They walked in silence until they stopped in front of a room with a tiny window. Youichi pulled it open then stepped back to let Natsume look. Inside the room, there was a patient pitifully strapped to his hospital bed. He was sleeping peacefully at the moment but Natsume could see that his flesh was bruised and scarred in several places.

"He hurts himself," Natsume said out loud and he felt compassion for the suffering man. He turned to Youichi. "Is that our friend?"

"Yes."

The Mender in the waking world was a mentally-disabled person. It seemed fitting somehow that his damaged mind had the remarkable capacity to fix the dreams of others in the world of Dreaming. It wasn't the first time Natsume had felt helpless but it was certainly the most vulnerable he had been in a while. He practically owed his life to this man but there was no level, no plane in which he could express his gratitude and return the favor.

Although the Mender could not hear Natsume, he started to speak, not caring if Youichi caught him in this sentimental moment.

"Sir, you gave me back my dream. I see its value and I will never forget. I will think of your work and remember that you also struggle. You taught me this: Good dreams require us to fight and that's what I'll do to the end of my days."

Natsume shut the window then nodded to Youichi. Together they made their way back to Natsume's room. For the rest of the day they would continue to rest then tomorrow, with their strength fully restored and all their dreams mended, they would return to the world.

* * *

_ This is the first and last of all journeys I take. This is where the sun rises and sets. If this is the first day of my life, I believe a single step is worth a thousand miles. If it takes me that far, then my struggle would not be in vain. If I am thus gratified, then I understand that I live for every waking moment and every fine breath._

_That makes me— with all my hopes and all my labor— a dreamer._

**THE END**

* * *

**Credits and Acknowledgements:**

_The Mender _is the central character from_ The Mender of Broken Dreams _by Nancy A. Collins. This short story is included in the anthology, The Sandman: Book of Dreams.

_Benjamin Button _is aborrowed character from the short story written by F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Curious Case of Benjamin Button_.

_The Dreaming, Sandman_ and the _looking-glass_ are adopted elements from The Sandman by Neil Gaimanand _Through the Looking-Glass_ byLewis Carroll.

* * *

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